The Beauty of Imitation

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Recently, I read an article titled “Ode to Imitation” in Flow magazine that started out with this:

We’re often told that we should be original, independent, and innovative. But sometimes copying is the best way to learn something. It teaches us about imitation, inspiration, and the illusion of originality.

Educators have been talking a lot lately about original, independent, and innovative thinking. It’s all the rage, and rightfully so: There is a lot to be gained from pushing our students to find their own confidence and voice in their learning. But what about imitation? Is there value in imitating good work?

Even before reading the rest of the “Ode to Imitation” article, which confirmed my thinking, I would have responded to that question with a resounding yes. It goes without saying that I am not referring to plagiarism. On the contrary, I’m referring to imitation as the act of studying, analyzing, and imitating some of the tricks used by really good writers. Imitation is how I learned to write effectively.

Here’s what happened. At some point along the way, I decided I wanted to be a really solid writer. It was late in high school—my senior year. I don’t remember what precipitated it, but I remember having a very clear and distinct series of thoughts:

I respect and enjoy good writing. 

I am annoyed and flustered by bad writing.

I do not want to annoy and fluster people.

I am going to work toward being a good writer.

How, though?

Through imitation.

My teachers and professors helped with direct instruction and support, of course, but I mostly refined my writing by studying the style and approach of authors I knew and respected. I read profusely, as I always had, but my lens expanded: Instead of reading primarily for plot or knowledge, I added a component. I started to really think about what worked for particular authors and why. From People magazine to F. Scott Fitzgerald, I made it a point to constantly ask myself questions about decisions authors had made in their work.

I thought about grammatical and word-choice decisions, such as these:

• Where are the commas placed so that they keep the sentence flowing?
• Why is this sentence so short (or long, or concise, or descriptive)?
• Is this writer conservative (or generous) with words for a reason?
• Why does the author seem to be playing around with longer words that have elusive meanings? Is it effective?
• The author seems to really like a particular tool (ellipses, exclamation points, semicolons, parentheses). Why? Does it work?

I also found myself comparing authors.

• Beverly Cleary: How has she captured the authentic feel of being young, anxious, and worried?
• Harper Lee: How does she give such a distinct and believable voice to her characters?
• Faulkner: How does he make these page-long sentences work?
• Laura Ingalls Wilder: What things does she choose to describe deeply, and what does she choose to brush over lightly?
• Cynthia Voigt: How does she weave her books together with such loose—but effective—connections between her characters?

I compared the style that was consistent within genres.

• Newspapers: How do journalists consolidate and summarize so much information in such a short space?
• Magazines: How does the author use photographs and images to support their writing?
• Formal writing: How was the research and scholarly thinking arranged and explained? What style was used to give credit to the work of others?
• Fiction: What tools does an author use to develop characters and make their actions believable?
• Is the writing intended for a certain audience, and if so, is the style in line with the reader’s needs?

I deliberately studied other things, too. I looked at how writers make dialogue flow without glitches or stops. I counted how many times an author used a character’s name; the word said or thought; superlatives like imperative and crucial. I did a lot of reading, then rereading, and then reading again. Some books I read until I had practically memorized specific passages, because I wanted to understand how I could write as beautifully and effectively as the authors.

Studying the work of writers grew into a habit for me. I do it still, today, and it still contributes to refinement of my own writing. As an example, I adore the writing of Molly Wizenberg of Orangette fame; I faithfully read her blog posts and devoured her two books (A Homemade Life and Delancey). I find her writing to be honest, sweetly self-deprecating, and informative. Her voice practically sings from the paper as she weaves her vignettes together to tell her stories. When I read her work, I enjoy the content, sure—but I also think carefully about her writing style. Then, I play around with my own writing, using shorter, matter-of-fact, just-like-I-would-say-it-aloud phrasing—like Wizenberg does—because I find it so enjoyable in her work. I also study the writing of my colleagues when they communicate with their teachers and parents, of bloggers I admire, of people who are excellent at conveying a complex thought on Twitter and Instagram. I enjoy learning how to be effective, efficient, clear, and concise simply by reading the writing of others.

Imitation. Since it can be such a powerful tool, it’s one we should consider using in our support of older students who are learning to write using their distinct voice and style. When working with them, we can emphasize the value of imitation— “Why does that writers seem to speak to you so clearly?” “What about this work makes it easy for you to read and absorb?”  By guiding them to those answers, we can help them cobble together their own unique and personalized—and (ironically) original, independent, and innovative style of writing.

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